LOVE AND HONOR: The Mad Emperor (BL)
The memory of the tune had blurred with pain and everything else.
So he swallowed the silence.
And stayed quiet.
He had learned not to speak.
Not even a groan.
Sounds and pleading invited correction.
And correction led to more suffering.
The chamber reeked—herbs, wine, sweat, and the sharp metallic tang of fear.
A scent he knew too well by now.
The emperor had gone still.
He stood a few feet away, breathing heavily.
His robe was half-loose, his sandals forgotten, and in his hand—the same hand that had struck him—a whip, suspended midair.